


A New Start

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [1]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: 1840s London, Class Differences, Friendship, Gen, Horrible Victorian class system is horrible, London, Servants, Serving Class, Victorian, Victorian Philanthropy, upper class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27385771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton!  He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!Kudos and Comments always greatly appreciated.
Series: A New Start [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Kudos: 2





	A New Start

He stopped in front of the house and double-checked the address. It was correct. He nodded to himself. It certainly wasn't like where he was employed before. No, nothing like with the Trenchards. It was better…much better. He knew that the houses on this particular street belonged to gentry, not the grocer or middle classes. This would be a major step up for him. If he were an optimistic sort of man, he'd say that getting fired from his previous post had a brightly shining silver lining. But the job wasn't his. Not yet.

The position looked extremely promising, judging by the advert and the location of the household. He wondered why it hadn't been snapped up earlier by some other lucky sod. The job had been advertised for three weeks now based on the list date. This query nagged at him, snapping at his thoughts, but he'd pushed it away and down like a small annoying lapdog. He fervently hoped that this small issue wouldn’t turn into a major problem. Assuming that he'd be the one to acquire this extremely tempting post, that is.

In between applying and hopefully waiting for a reply, he had made a few enquiries with other household staff that he knew in that area. He’d either received a cold shoulder and no reply or some vague answer about the Mistress there being a bloody eccentric fool. He mentally shook his head; there was even a bloody class system within the serving classes that completely aligned with whatever rank their employer was. His previous employers were too far down the pecking order for him to be taken seriously by the staff of higher-ups. This annoyed him immensely. _I’ll show those bloody stuck up idiots._

What was called madness in the lower classes was forgiven as mere eccentricity in the upper classes. He had wondered on what they meant by ‘eccentric’ this time. The things that he had to quietly put up with over the course of his career would truly have tested the patience of the saintliest of saints! One particularly mad Mistress had insisted that all her staff be renamed according to the Greek alphabet and had declared that her pet Pekinese was to be the butler. As long as the pay was good enough, he could put up with all manner of foibles.

He didn’t really have much of a choice at this point. He couldn't afford to be picky now. His rent was voraciously eating into his precious retirement funds. He needed to work, and this post was the best paying one he'd seen that was still within London. He could go and work in the countryside, or up north. Plenty of posts in either place. But both those prospects sent shivers through him. No. He'd just have to excel at the interview for this job. 

He checked his pocket watch – he was fifteen minutes early. He briskly walked round to the servants’ entrance at the side and skipped down the stone stairs. He paused at the door taking a moment to gather himself. He checked that his shoes were clean and brushed his hand down the front of his jacket, smoothing out a wrinkle. Finally, he raised his hand, knocked confidently, and waited.

"Who is it?" he heard a shout from inside.

He opened the door, not wishing to shout like a common fishwife.

"Mr Turton. I've come about the advertised position. I was told to be here at nine sharp for my interview with the Lady Morgan."

A large woman stood at the middle island of the kitchen with her back to him, her hands busily mixing dough on the work surface in front of her. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled welcomingly.

"Ah! Come in, Mr Turton. Come in! We were told to expect you," she said, her hands not ceasing in their busy task.

She turned back around, away from him again.

"Daisy!" she yelled. "Where is that wretched girl?" her voice now muttering quietly.

"Daisy Smith! You get your lazy behind in here right now! I knows you're only next door in the pantry coz it was me that sent you in there not five minutes ago to fetch the dried fruit!" she bellowed again.

"Sorry, Mrs B. I couldn't hear you back there." A young skinny slip of a girl poked her head around the pantry door.

"Mr Turton is here to see the Mistress about the butlering position. Show him up to the study please, Daisy."

"Yes, Mrs B." she paused. "Um… before or after I find the raisins for you?" she queried.

"Before, Daisy, you daft idiot!"

"Yes, Mrs B. This way please, Mr Turton," she smiled up at him. He stared back at her.

Daisy blinked, then turned and headed out through the kitchen door. She led him through a warren of corridors, up some stairs, and out of a door which opened into the upper family area.

She'd spent the entire journey babbling on about the family and how lovely the Missus was to work for; how she'd taught her how to read and write; how she hoped he'd like it here; and how she was sure that he would. He took note of it all, especially the fact that the Mistress had educated her staff personally. Most Masters liked their staff to be ignorant. It was easier to control them that way.

According to a surreptitious glance at his pocket watch, only five minutes had passed despite it feeling exceptionally longer. Daisy ushered him, finally, into a sparsely furnished study.

"I'll just go and get the Mistress for you, Mr Turton," she beamed happily up at him again. He nodded an affirmative reply.

He turned his head, exploring his surroundings from where he stood. Half empty bookshelves. The shelves, what books there were, and the large desk set against the wall were all tidy and clear of dust. The desk looked like it was well used: the leather on top was rubbed smooth and some of the gilding was missing. There were no tables, flowers, or other such clutter littering the room. The only other piece of furniture in here was an old, well-worn three-seater sofa set under a window. A book was left open, abandoned, half-read on the middle of the sofa. He walked over to it and lifted it up, curiosity getting the better of him. He noted its title. A collection of essays by John Stuart Mill.

The door opened, and he swiftly returned the book back to its resting place. Quickly composing himself, he turned and bowed at the lady who entered.

"Mr Turton?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am.” He walked towards her, reaching into his pocket and extracting pieces of paper. “My resume and references."

She took them, glanced at the reference briefly, then handed them back.

"When can you start?" she asked. She held her hands in front of her, fidgeting with them.

_That was the shortest damn interview ever!_

He had braced himself for both a lengthy interrogation around his dismissal for a family he'd worked with for over ten years and for the bland reference they'd given him.

All his prepared answers evaporated instantly, unneeded and unnecessary. Admittedly, they were flimsy excuses at the very best, but he'd spent ages torturing himself while forming them. He felt strangely aggrieved that they were now deemed unnecessary. That thought was quickly replaced, though, by sheer, absolute joy and relief at not having to actually use those truly pathetic excuses. Not that anyone’d know about his delight by looking at his face. Well, not unless looking rather closely. Then, maybe, a slight twitch of his lips could be noticed. 

"I can start as soon as you would like, Ma'am," he answered, trying not to sound overly keen.

"Good. Er... Can you start today?" she asked, again twisting her hands.

"Yes, Ma'am."

A gleeful smile lit her face up brightly and beautifully. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared as she schooled it away, however, and was replaced with her version of a stern Mistress face.

"I assume you have belongings to move here?"

He nodded. "I'm staying in Belgravia at the moment. I can be there and back within the hour, Ma'am."

"Please ask Daisy to find me upon your return and I can show you your duties."

"Certainly, Ma'am." _Ah. No housekeeper then?_ He waited to be dismissed to leave.

"This way please, Mr Turton."

She brushed past him, exited out of the study, and ushered him towards the front door.

"Pointless going all of that roundabout way when there is a perfectly good door over here," she opened it for him.

In all his years of work, he'd never left by the main front door. And certainly not one that was held open for him by the Mistress of the house!

"Er... Thank you, Ma'am?"

He turned at the bottom of the front steps and looked back up. He was already aware that the upper classes could be oddly weird. This household could easily be added to the list of eccentric ones, but they were not overly so based on his brief encounter just now. _Just keep thinking of the pay,_ he reminded himself.

The research he'd done earlier had told him that the head of the household, the Lady Morgan, was a widower, her husband dead in India with the army four years ago – not remarried and no parents or in-laws; there were just two small children and no other hangers on sniffing around. She was rolling in money by all accounts. With her and her husband’s families’ money, the dead husband’s army pension was an added cherry on top of that cake. Oh and no country house to worry about getting sent off to, praise the good Lord. Her Ladyship had sold off both of the family’s country estates. The London house was the only property left.

His thoughts returned to the pay as it always did. It was certainly satisfactory...exceptionally so. More than his last position with the Trenchards. _Much more_. He smirked happily to himself. It was most definitely an eye-wateringly bright silver lining after all.

-

He collected his belongings from his room at the Horse & Groom. It didn't take long as there weren't many items, and so he promptly made his way back.

-

He was escorted back up to the study by Daisy. He seriously wondered if the young girl's wits were all there. She smiled far too often and babbled constantly about everything and nothing.

On their trek to the study from the kitchen, she chattered on and on about how good the Missus was, again: about how she never yelled or hurt anyone; about how lonely she’s been since her husband died; about how there was a constant stream of bachelors attempting to court her, but she'd never been interested in any of them, so far. She also revealed that the last three butlers interviewed, just two weeks previous, hadn't returned. That snippet of information was exceedingly interesting. He squirreled it away for further perusal. Daisy continued on, this time about how the Missus was truly glad that he had accepted the job. She needed the help even though she would never say as much out loud. That last part was whispered to him conspiratorially. Again, he listened and learnt.

Mrs Morgan was already waiting for him in the study and cheerfully welcomed his return.

"Daisy, will you please take Mr Turton's belongings to his room."

He handed over his small suitcase to the ever-smiling Daisy.

Mrs Morgan then headed over to the desk. She took a small key from her pocket and opened a drawer.

"I'm so very glad that you decided to join our small household, Mr Turton," she turned and flashed a joyful smile up at him as she rummaged through the desk drawer. She fished out a large bunch of keys.

"These are yours," she said as she offered the keys out towards him. He accepted them and thanked her. He turned them over in his hand noticing that each key had a different brightly coloured ribbon attached to it.

She walked over towards to the study door.

"Will you please follow me."

 _So, definitely no housekeeper then_ , he thought. She would be the usual person to show him around. It was most assuredly not something the Lady of the house would do.

He nodded and followed her out of the door. She paused, stopping suddenly in the hallway and turned to face him. He pulled himself up sharply to prevent himself from barging straight into her.

"So, um… I'm not exactly sure where to start..." she paused, her hands twisting and turning in front of her. "I've been running the household myself these past few months. Not doing a very good job of it," she laughed nervously, "I'm afraid the accounts are a bit of a mess. You'll be in charge of sorting through them for me."

Turton froze at the remark. She had obviously not done any research on him then. If she had, then she'd know not to trust him with the accounts. He bitterly thought on how his great gamble had failed and how making sure that he had a comfortable retirement had backfired on him so disastrously. He knew that he was lucky to have a reference at all even if it was a remarkably insipid one.

"We've not had a butler for, oh, six months now? And the last housekeeper left three months before that," she continued.

"How about you start by going over the layout of the house? Which key belongs where? I can ascertain most of my duties from there," he suggested.

"Oh, that sounds like a most excellent plan," she replied happily.

"Ah, and I'll be needing a proper uniform, Ma'am. These are my own clothes," he added and pointed at the suit he wore.

"Oh, yes! Of course! We can start there. Follow me please, Mr Turton."

She led him back into the servants’ quarters, and they stopped outside of a door into what he assumed was either the butler’s or the housekeeper’s office.

"This is your office." _The butler's office then_. "The key with the red ribbon will open it." She pointed at the bunch of keys that he held.

They entered, and she made a beeline for the desk in the middle of the office.

"The blue key, Mr Turton," she pointed at the locked drawer of the desk. More keys were held within that drawer. "For all the cupboards in here," she gestured at the room around her.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She searched amongst the keys in the desk drawer. A triumphant look suddenly arose upon her face when the one she'd been seeking was found. She headed towards a tall cupboard replete with deep drawers at the back of the office. She pulled them open, obviously searching for something. He could see that several household staff uniforms were within. She carried on opening drawers until she came across some black, male uniforms.

"Your uniforms, Mr Turton. Please select whichever fits the best, and I'll have any necessary alternations completed for you as soon as possible."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

"This way, if you please, Mr Turton."

He followed along after her as she exited his new office. They proceeded to tour the servants’ area, then the upper house, and finally the family rooms.

From what he could ascertain, there was Mrs Brown, the cook, Daisy, who was the kitchen maid and housemaid all rolled into one, a nanny, who doubled as a lady's maid when needed, and a groom, who was also a gardener, general caretaker, and married to the nanny. And now him, of course. _Scanty staff for such a grand household._ Oh and no footmen. That duty would fall to him as well he guessed.

-

The shirt, collar, waistcoat, and tie all fit him fine. The shirt sleeves were a tad long, but the jacket would hide that. The trousers would definitely need taking up or he'd end up tripping over his own arse. Whoever were the butlers here before him, they must have been a selection of giants with ape-like knuckle-dragging arms! The jacket would also need altering. It fit round his waist and chest, but the sleeves belonged to the same gorilla as the trousers did. He folded the sleeves under and checked himself in the mirror _. It will have to do for now_ , he conceded reluctantly. He headed out to the kitchen as Lunch, so he'd been informed, was at one pm.

-

The food had already gone up in the dumb waiter. He carried a tray which Mrs Brown pushed into his hands and asked him to take up…not that she'd given him much choice in the matter. It would normally have been below his post to fetch and carry the food, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He had his pension to think of now, and he certainly didn’t want to create a fuss on his first day. If carrying a tray up would mean he didn't end up in a pauper's grave, then he'd keep quiet and carry it cheerfully.

He followed Daisy and her food trolley along the hallway towards the dining room. It sounded exceedingly noisy inside. _How many are dining?_ As they got closer, he could hear that it sounded like children inside. _Can't be, though. They eat in the nursery usually, don't they_?

His query was answered as he held the dining room door open for Daisy to push her trolley through. He saw Mrs Morgan seated at the head of the enormous, overly long dining table. She laughed as two children, one of each gender, chased each other gaily around said table.

"Edmund, Lucy, come sit please. I want you to meet someone."

She couldn't mean him, he thought, panicking suddenly. He was used to being unseen and unheard, standing silently in the corner until needed. He'd certainly not had to deal with actual bloody children before! He watched them scramble over to be seated, one on either side of their mother.

"Children, this is Mr Turton. He's joining us here," she said and beckoned him over.

He froze. Daisy pulled the tray from his hands and carried on unloading the food onto the side table.

He walked over to the table and bowed at her and the children.

"Ma'am," he said.

"Mr Turton. These are my children. Edmund and Lucy," she pointed at each in turn.

He was unsure how to address small children, not having had to do so before, so he kept it safe and nodded at each of them.

"Will he be staying longer than the last butler, mummy?" the boy asked.

"Well now, that'll be up to him. And to you two – no pranks! Do you understand me? I've given Mr Turton here free rein with a brand-new birch."

This information was met with gasps, 'but mother!' and other vociferous protests from both children.

" _And_ he's been trained by the Queen's Hussars in how to swing a sword, so he knows how to swing a birch switch most effectively!" He hadn't. But he kept quiet and looked at the children, giving them his best stern, gruff face. The children gasped and offered him nervous glances.

"Now, you're to do as you're told by Mr Turton here. When you can't find myself or nanny, you will do as he says. No questions asked. Understood?"

Mumbled ‘yeses’ were their answers. They understood, but Turton wasn't sure that he did. He'd not been in charge of children before. He wasn't a bloody nanny!

The Mistress looked up at him. "Please continue, Mr Turton." He nodded and carried on with what he did know best, that being, how to serve dinner.

As they finished, Mrs Morgan sent the children off with Daisy to go back into nanny's care. Turton started tidying the food and plates onto the trolley.

"Mr Turton?"

He spun as the missus addressed him. "Ma'am?"

"Um, you found some uniforms that fit?"

"Yes, Ma'am. The only alterations needed are the jacket and shirt sleeves and the trouser leg length. All are too long. The rest, including the shoes fit fine, Ma'am."

She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a piece of chalk. She held her hand out.

"Your arm please," she asked.

He looked at her strangely, not moving.

"So I can mark where it needs shortening to?"

He reluctantly offered his arm out towards her. She moved closer to him and took his hand, lifting his arm higher. He was unsure of how many protocols in total he was breaking here now.

She took hold of his jacket sleeve. The temporary turn-in he'd used to shorten its length was pulled back out again. She adjusted both the sleeve and him, re-tucking the extra length of sleeve in until she was satisfied. After making several marks on the sleeve with her chalk, she released his arm and looked back up at him.

"The shirt sleeve length can be ascertained from the length of the jacket sleeves," she explained.

Then she knelt down before him. _What the fuck!_

"Please stand up straight, Mr Turton," she said as she fiddled around with his trouser leg. He had to tightly clench his fists and firmly grit his teeth to prevent himself from following his instincts, which were to run the hell out of there! He closed his eyes, not looking down. Her head was dangerously close to his… No, he wouldn't think that. His nails dug into his palms as his fists tightened even more.

"There. Done!" she, thankfully, stood back up again.

"If you don't mind wearing your own suit for the rest of the day, can you give the uniforms to Daisy when you go back downstairs so that they can be altered.” She placed the chalk back in her pocket. He watched as she tilted her head to the side and tapped her chin, obviously pausing to think on something. Finally, she came to a conclusion and addressed him again. “If you could bring another pair of trousers and another jacket, if there are any available of course, and three of the best shirts as well. I'll send for the cobbler tomorrow; those shoes don't fit as well as they should from what I can see."

"As you wish, Ma'am."

She smiled widely up at him and left. He ran his finger around the inside of his shirt collar, feeling a tad warm all of a sudden…


End file.
